Randoms
by darhling
Summary: Random gap fillers for different characters throughout the seasons. First one up is from 2X4, so not in any real order. Please be kind, its been awhile since I've done this.
1. Got something for you

A/N : Not new, but its been a really long time since I've written fanfiction, so please, no flames just yet.

A/N: Cannon, gap filer for 2X04. I noticed no one ever mentions the fact that Mick is shooting at Iraqis when Frank goes looking for ammunition to scare off Sheila, and I felt like it needed to be addressed because dammit! Mickey's adorable.

In a weird way, they're just like everyone else. They have their shitty nights, they have good nights, and they have nights where Ian's glad its summer with the air so hot and heavy he can practically feel it weighing in on them as they move together. Despite how rough he is, Ian can always tell what kind of night his gonna have with Mickey.

On the shittier nights, he'll get a text sometime after midnight, no lead up, just a location and a time and maybe a crass offer of a beat down if his late. Ian always shows up late, mostly out of spite, because these are the kind of night he dreads. The kind that feels like his just being used for having a decent dick and having the capability to follow instructions: mouth shut, no faggotry . On these nights, Mickey doesn't even offer a hello when they see each other; he gets straight to business attacking Ian's neck, pushing his grimy hands up Ian's shirt and across his chest.

Ian hates how weak he is on those kinds of nights. He wants to have resolve, he wants to push Mick away from him, punch his face bloody till he can't recognize him anymore, but he never can. He Just reacts the way Mickey wants him to and turns the situation on the shorter man, slamming him into whatever available surface and fucking him into oblivion.

On the good nights, Mick's a little more polite with his demands. He'll text Ian earlier in the day letting him know what his up to, maybe mention that Mandy will be out that night with some friends of hers, his brothers will be off fucking –god-knows-where and his dad is shacking up with a chubby stripper from the Cum Dungeon (which is really just Bill's Topless Bar, but Mickey detests the place after having had a job there for all of two weeks).

Ian will show up and Mick will be half way through the first six pack, they'll probably go through two or three between them. Sometimes, they'll fuck first, get a nice quick hard one out of the way then play video games for an hour, or Mickey will watch TV while Ian yaps away about Monica, Westpoint, his siblings, etc etc etc.

The first few good nights they had Ian was nervous; the endless talking was the fear of what Mickey's silence could mean. For the first month or so, that's all it was for him, he didn't even know if Mickey was listening, and maybe at first Mickey wasn't, but somewhere down the line he started responding. It's not much of a response, granted, still Ian thought it was something that Mick at least cared enough to ask : " Who the fuck is Debbie again?"

Of course after a bit of this, they'll fuck again, harder this time, because Mickey needs it that way, and even though it's not much of secret, Ian does it because he (not-so secretively ) secretly loves Mickey and would do anything to just be near him.

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

Mick had texted Ian around 2 that afternoon, uncommonly early for a guy who was just naturally a night owl.

_**Got something for you. **_

At first, Ian thinks it has to be a reference to his penis, though Mick's not one for sexting or the like. The one time Ian tried to ignite that fire, hoping for some inspiration on Mickey's end, Mickey didn't talk to him for two weeks. Mickey never explained, but Ian figured the incident must of freaked him out seeing it all written down. The filthy things Ian wanted to do to him, all the things he would let him to do to him.

_**Can't tonight. Its Deb's merry unbirthday.**_

_**Fuck Alice, **_was Mickey's response. _**Tomorrow. **_

_**Sure. Hit you up then**_

Mandy leaves the party around eleven thirty, fairly abruptly, saying she had plans elsewhere, which didn't really make sense to Ian because when he asked her to come along she had been thrilled at the prospect of staying over. Fiona wasn't going to be home and with the kids all in the living room and Holly Hickey-maker getting the coveted spot on the couch, Fiona said she could crash in her room or even with Ian in his, as long as there was no activity under the covers.

He doesn't press it though, the kids are about a third of the way through the movie and Lip is upstairs probably getting stoned by now. He excuses himself to the kitchen, getting up from the arm chair and picking his way through the crowded living room.

_**Offer still stand? **_

He holds his breath as he sends the text, is not too late, barely midnight, but by now Mick probably had other plans or had passed out. Worst case scenario, Mick wouldn't answer him and he'd hear from him tomorrow. He pockets his phone and goes for a beer from the fridge. He can't help the megawatt smile that threatens to break his face in half when he feels his phone go off in back pocket almost immediately.

_**Meet me under the L in 20.**_

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

There's a lot of things that Ian Gallagher secretly loves about Mickey Milkovich, from his tatted, abused knuckles, to his unkempt appearance, to his " no bullshit" attitude. The thing that gets him though, right in his rotting gut is Mickey's laugh; maybe because it's so rare, rarer than his smile.

Tonight's one of those nights that his laughing.

Mick's in a good mood. He just found out that he doesn't have to take anymore piss tests for his probation officer. The officer had called Linda that day to confirm his new employment at the Kash N Grab and after Linda told the cunt all about Mick's ' redemption tale', well, she went from being a self-righteous bitch to all smiles.

To celebrate he had scored a quarter of something he kept referring to as Purple.

Ian's not much of a stoner, his never even bought weed for himself. If he smokes at all he takes it from Lip's communal stash, but still he gets why Mick's excited having picked up some of the lingo from Lip. He knows that shit is expensive, the shit Lip buys during the winter, when things are tightest costs about $40 a quarter. During the summer, when Lip and Kev are rolling in it, his seen them sell the same amount for a $100, $120 if they didn't like the looks of the guy.

Mick just got out of juvie, had barely started working for Linda, Ian doesn't really want to think about what he may have done to get it, so when Mickey pulls him down next to him on the shitty mattress someone dumped under the L , and hands him the joint, he doesn't say anything, but after the one rotation of puff, puff, pass… Ian knows he has never been higher before.

"Heard your sister's a slut," Mick inhales and smirks at him, referring to Fiona's recent affair with Craig Heisner.

They sit close together, but not touching. Doesn't matter though, because Ian feels like his in his own private bubble with Mickey right now, the air is stale and hot and he can smell the mattress beneath them and its not pleasant and he hopes Mick doesn't expect him to fuck him on that because Ian would do it, but he'd rather not.

" Must be a nice change from hearing about your sister," he baits him, but Mick has been smoking for a while now and he is unbaitable tonight, so he instead of punching Ian he chuckles, and it's a harsh bark with his smoker's hack , but Ian can feel his heart beating in his throat.

Ian decided, back when he they first started hooking up, stoned Mickey was probably his favorite. He was slower, he took more time to appreciate things. When Mickey was stoned he wasn't all knee jerk reactions, he was contemplative. He thought before he spoke, he listened to what was said. He engaged. Tonight is no different.

"Yeah, Mandy's kind of a slut," _but I'll kill for her anyways. _

Ian's high voltage smile is plastered on his face now. Mickey smells pungent like the grass he smokes and something deeper, earthy, completely Mickey about him. His nostrils flare and thoughts of the smelly mattress are all pushed away. He stares at Mick for a moment while he puffs on the joint, that slight smirk of his still there. He thinks, not for the first time, that he should just go for it and kiss him, but he doesn't. he notices the back pack next to Mick's feet, and remembers his earlier promise.

" You said you had something for me?" he doesn't mean for it, but Ian's voice comes out low and husky and Mick meets his gaze for the first time that night, before passing the joint to him again.

He watches Ian inhale, exhale, and immediately inhale the smoke again through his nose. Mandy once told Mick that its called a French inhale, because all the old Hollywood actresses use to do it on a screen with their French cigarettes. Mick can't really speak for the old Hollywood starlets, but it looks pretty hot on Firecrotch right now.

Mick extinguishes the joint after a few more puffs, gets up and stretches cracking his back, without really thinking about it he extends a hand to Ian, "Come on, lets go for a walk. Its up a little further."

Ian stares at his hand for a few seconds and its making Mickey nervous because he hadn't thought about it, the gesture felt natural, but now in hindsight, Mickey feels like backing out. He almost takes his hand away, but its almost as if Gallagher knows him and Ian places his in Mick's and he pulls him up to his feet. Ian holds on to his hand longer than necessary, and Mickey doesn't look at him, but he doesn't pull away either. After a second though, Ian drops Mickey's hand and is glowing bright red from the simple touch.

As Mickey stoops to pick up the backpack, Ian feels the energy in him change slightly, he is still in a good mood, but now he seems hyper, maybe anxious. Mickey's not always the easiest person to read, but Ian doesn't comment on the sudden shift and follows Mick under the L.

They walk over about four or five streets. In the shadow of the L structure, Ian can make out four or five shapes about a block ahead of them. Its dark and the only thing lighting their way are the street lights and its dangerous neighborhood, but Ian feels safe and relaxed walking besides Mickey, and really who wouldn't?

The closer they get he realizes that they're only two dimensional shapes and when he reaches them he can see that they're just cardboard figures. Ian lets out a laugh, three of them are badly cut out men with turbans, the word ' Terrorists' across their chest, one is a woman in a burka enflamed with 'Iraqi Whore' and the last is a miniature cut out about Carl's height with the label " Baby Terrorist". Ian frowns at the last two.

Mick has set the backpack down now and starts opening it up. Ian leans over and sees two semi-automatics and a few boxes of ammunition. He watches Mickey's back ripple beneath his dirty wife beater as he loads both guns and he can't help but think about how incredibly hot it is to see him with one. He really wants to feel Mickey right now, he wants to be so deep inside of him, he can't even think straight, but then something clicks in his head that has very little to do with dicks.

_**Got something for you. **_

About a week ago, Frank had found Ian's personal stash. Most of what Ian made went toward helping the family with expenses, but the rest he saved for ROTC training and maybe the occasional show or two. So Frank finding his cash, cash that would of paid for the necessary hours Ian needed to complete at the gun range to maintain his ranking in drills, really hurt. He hadn't told Fiona though, not even Lip. He didn't want his siblings to feel like they had to help him out with the expenses, he had always been able to make his own way in that regard and he was going to keep it that way.

He did, however, tell Mickey and Mickey had apparently built him a gun range equipped with life sized targets and knowing that Mick's dad had a plethora of guns in all kinds of crazy and illegal models, Ian wasn't going to miss out on that valuable training.

Mickey stands up to hand Ian one of the guns and he almost goes blind, Ian's slow shit eating grin as the comprehension of what this was made Mickey so very anxious. He licks his lips and looks down at his feet, he can't look Ian in the eye right now, because it makes him want to kiss the younger guy. That smile always has that effect on him, and it may be why, more often than not, that Mick works so hard to make sure Ian doesn't. Granted meanness came naturally to him as a Milkovich, but meanness towards Ian never set right in his stomach.

Ian takes the gun off of Mickey moves past him a little so he is centered with the targets. Mickey takes the silent cue and moves back a few paces to give him room. He watches as Ian brings up his arm, cocks his gun and begins to aim. Mick plugs his fingers in his ears, knowing the L will be coming by shortly to drown out the noise but still not wanting to chance deafness. He waits for the shot. It never comes.

Ian has drops his arm and he frowns again. " What's with the lady and the kid?"

Mick puts thumbs his lip, " Figured you got to be prepared for anything over there, right? You can't expect to run off into someone else's country like an asshole and not expect to shoot an innocent bystander or two. Happens all the time."

Ian knows its not the expected reaction, hell, he knows its not the right reaction, but there's that goddamn smile again, that Mickey can't take. Ian smiles because Mick always does this, he always tries to be subtle with the hints that he is none too happy about Ian's dream of Westpoint and War and glory. Mick's always pointing out how "officers get shot first," how officers get captured and tortured because they're privy to information that the average soldier isn't and now this.

So Ian takes aim again and shoots the woman right between the eyes, just to prove to Mick that while he gets it, it doesn't change anything, and Mick can read him loud and clear, so he doesn't say anything.

They stay out there for a few hours more, trading off guns, messing around, taking breaks to smoke two more joint between them, and Ian is flying high under the L. At some point in time they both end up on the ground, lying next to each other, again not touching, but there in that private bubble once more.

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

It gets late.

Then it gets later.

Round four in the morning, Ian gets off the ground, and this time, he helps Mick off the ground. He helps Mickey gather up the ammunition and the guns. Mick walks with Ian toward his house, even though his is in the opposite direction, and when they get to his street corner, Mickey fidgets a lot and looks down at his feet again. He knows that if he looks at Gallagher, he'll want to kiss him, and he just can't do that, so he mumbles a good bye and turns on his heel.

Ian watches Mickey walk away for a good minute. The shorter man doesn't turn back, its not till he is completely out of sight that Ian realizes, not once did anything sexual happen between the two of them tonight. There had been moments, like when they were wrestling and high or when Mick had been shooting and Ian had stared at his every move that the atmosphere was thick with sex, but it didn't happen and it wasn't like it couldn't have happened, because if Mickey wanted him, Ian could never deny him.

Ian starts to walk to his house. His step light, he doesn't even notice the lack of kids as he makes his way past the living room and up the stairs. He passes Fiona's room and she is already passed out in her bed. He sheds his clothes in milliseconds before climbing into own, smiling, thinking on his unofficial, somewhat romantic night out, with the guy he is JUST fucking.

And if he wakes up with a smile, who could really blame him?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I hate Kash. I love Linda, even though she comes off as a raging bitch. Season 1 episode 6-7 character study and that moment when she looks at Ian and say's "In my opinion you could do better," just kills me bro and I can only imagine that her opinion is based on how disappointed she is with her life.

It's the end of her day.

Linda Kashmiri looks herself over in the mirror; she doesn't recognize the person looking back at her in the burgundy hijab. That should bother her, but it doesn't. What bothers her is the person she sees when she pulls the damn thing off, when she takes the pins out that keep her hair in place underneath, when it tuples down in a cooper-red wave under her shitty bathroom lights.

She can see a small resemblance to Linda Loveless, her mother's daughter, raised Irish Catholic, from the south side of Chicago. The person she was before she married Kash.

His asleep on the couch, not uncommon these days, he says the couch gives him better back support. He isn't out there as punishment, though her discovery of his affair with their male, under aged employee certainly did warrant some form of execution. His out there because he wants to be, he wants to be away from her.

It didn't use to be like that, when they first got married Kash would curl up around her body and his tall frame would hold her to his chest, she hated it in the beginning. It reminded her of being a kid, like most of the Irish families in South Chicago, Linda grew up with a bunch of siblings: three older brothers and a younger sister. Linda doesn't have many memories of her brothers, when she was 12 her mother lost the house and they were sent to live with their "uncles" out west, but still till she left home at the age of 17, she had shared a full sized bed with her sister Jamie, a clingy sleeper, like Kash.

He use to seek out her warmth in the middle of the night, every night for the first five years of her marriage, she would scoot away from him and he would just follow her to the edge of the bed, and even once beyond. If she closes her eyes she can remember that night, just a few months after they had gotten married, her belly swollen with the twins. Linda had always been a side sleeper, but at that time she was forced to stay on her back, she had moved just a centimeter away and Kash had rolled over her, crashing to the ground, hitting his head on the bedside table, as he fell. She had laughed and even now, the memory of him sheepishly looking up at her, a boyish smile on his face even though he was evidently in pain, made her smile.

Linda's not smart, but she's not stupid, she knows what happened. There's a slew of reasons why a person becomes who they are, why they adopt certain mannerisms, develop particular habits. Psychologists call it conditioning, coping mechanisms are taught through the parents etc. etc. etc. She gets this.

Her mother was a waitress by trade, their father a truck driver, who blew in and out of south side. Her father never made an honest woman out of her mother and as far as back as Linda can remember, when her father wasn't around, was obsessed with getting "married" and "finding a real daddy for my girls". She had a lot of suitors, men coming in and going out of their cramped two room apartment, at all hours of the night; hard, pinchy men who smacked bottoms and made lewd comments, with wandering hands. These guys left money and toys, and sometimes groceries or a new heating unit in the winter, but they never stayed.

Linda had to figure it out by herself but she eventually realized her mother was little more than a delusional prostitute

The hijab and pins are off now. She turns on the sink on, cold water flows onto her hands, and Linda washes her face the same way her mother did, when she was still alive, except her hands don't shake from all the drink. No soap, no lather, she splashes water on her face, and pats it dry with a clean white towel. She wears very little makeup, like her mother.

Her mother, Maggie, called this ritual her "little baptism", she washed her face over a glass of wine. Linda and her sister would sit in the dry tub, the odd stray cat or dog between them, and listen to her prattle on through her ritual, more of a running inner monologue .She explained to her girls that the world was so dirty to her outside those bathroom walls that she needed to be purified time and time again. That the original sin got so deep in her she needed to wash it away. She also explained that their pale Irish skin couldn't take anything else, which it was, part of what made the Loveless women so beautiful. She was by no means a humble woman, albeit a very religious one, filled with rituals, she went to mass every Sunday, did a rosary every morning.

She undresses herself. Combs out her hair a hundred times, on each side, another little ritual Maggie taught her.

When she was nineteen she enrolled into community college. That's where she met Kash and after a few drunken nights in the grass on campus, Linda found herself pregnant and she married Kash. Islam was never an issue for her, it should've been, but it wasn't. Kash hadn't really cared if she converted or not, he was devout in his own way, but very liberal in others. His parents had hated her because she was white and she hoped that converting would placate their fears of their grandchildren being raised by heathens. And for a time that's what conversion was for her…

At the foot of the bed is a prayer mat and Linda gets on her knees.

…but she likes this. She likes the ritual of her nightly prayer, in the same way she liked the ritual of saying the rosary over breakfast.

Linda is a practical woman. It is her nature to see things as they are for what they are, it took a while to get comfortable in the truth but here it is: sometimes Linda knows there's a god and sometimes she fakes it to till she feels it again, and as long as the ritual is there she can fake it. She can make it through all the disappointment she's had.

She finishes her prayers and climbs alone into her bed. Sprawled out like a skydiver under the covers, she cries herself to sleep. Another little ritual these days.


End file.
